The Scavenger Hunt
by Neige Nivro
Summary: House has Wilson’s beeper and all Wilson wants is to get it back. It was foolish of him to think that would be simple.
1. Let the Games Begin

**Title**: The Scavenger Hunt

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Rating**: PG-13 (To be safe)

**Characters**: The whole gang. But mainly, it's Wilson and House

**Ships**: The S.S. Cane-Grab

**Disclaimer**: I totally own them. All of them. You would not believe the asinine things I make them do.

**Summary**: House has Wilson's beeper and all Wilson wants is to get it back. It was foolish of him to think that would be simple.

**A/N**: Yea, I am finally taking this bad-boy to IT'S NOT DEAD! TRUST ME! I just…am waiting for the angst to stop on the show so I can be inspired to make more funny-fluff. DAMN YOU ANGSTY PLOT!

Hindsight, in and of itself (and almost by definition) is completely useless.

After all, what benefit is there in realizing you've made a terrible, terrible mistake after it's already too late? Sure, if the opportunity should arise again, the experience might prevent you from making the _same_ mistake. But that, clearly, wouldn't even be hindsight anymore––at that point, it would simply be 'common sense'.

And no one knows that better than Dr. James Wilson, since he could, with the "benefit" of hindsight (and a noted lack of common sense), now acknowledge that he shouldn't have let House stay the night without getting a reason for why. But that knowledge didn't change anything. His beeper was still missing, House was still insufferable, and the damned red envelope was still sitting innocently where he left it on the kitchen table.

Well, to be fair (and it should be mentioned that it was getting increasingly hard to do so), the envelope itself wasn't to blame. No, nor was the letter inside it; this was all House's twisted mind's fault. But as that useless hindsight assured him, most things tended to follow that trend.

'But House should have at least had the chutzpa to stick around and deliver the envelope himself', Wilson lamented. At least if the twerp had been here, Wilson would have had something to attack–– aside from the palms of his hands, that is (which now had rather angry looking half moons in them, thanks to his overgrown nails and clenched fists).

But this sort of thing was just all too 'House'; the man was hedonistic by nature. He wanted to do what he wanted to do, and so what if that screwed over everyone else?

This latest stunt was clearly proof of that; House wanted Wilson to come out and play, and if forcing him at gunpoint was necessary, so be it.

Staring in an aggrieved way at the envelope, Wilson sighed. And like always, House was going to get what he wanted. And––most aggravatingly––he knew it, probably from the moment he walked through the door last night. Wilson sighed once more and looked away–– the red envelope leaving a green afterimage on his retina.

Well, as useful as this character analysis was, it wasn't helping matters. Besides which, time was running short; he needed to be at work in exactly three minutes. And, since that wasn't feasible, a slight panic washed over him at the realization that he was going to be quite late. This game was going to have to wait a bit.

Wilson ran into his bedroom to get his tie (which he'd forgotten to put on after he found the red envelope taped to the end of it). Breakfast was forgone since he didn't really have much of an appetite anymore. All Wilson needed this morning was an undo button; something to make last night disappear. But when that didn't appear, he grabbed the envelope instead.

He could feel the words inside.

He could feel House's light-hearted laughter.

He could feel the growing need for a homicide, but knew he'd have to get his beeper back first.

**Ευρισκει**

_Jimmy— _

_  
__You know, you really shouldn't leave your stuff lying around—least of all your beeper! Who knows who could break into your apartment and steal it! Think of how terrible that would be! But consider yourself lucky; I found the poor, neglected thing and put it someplace much safer. But, in order for you to learn your lesson, you're going to have to find it yourself. Don't worry though–– I'll leave some clues around for you. Hopefully this will teach you some responsibility! _

_  
__Happy hunting! _

_  
__Your bestest bud—_

_ House_

_  
__P.S. I know this hunt might keep you otherwise distracted, but don't you dare forget to check out Cuddy's ass. You know how snippy she can get, and then she'll take it out on me._

**Ευρισκει**

Everything about Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital looked deceptively the same from the outside. No ominous smoke, no evil cackling, not even an upside-down cross hanging from the door. House was obviously losing his touch and Wilson couldn't help but hope that maybe this 'hunt' wouldn't be as terrible as he thought. Until Cuddy walked over, that is.

"Dr. Wilson! What in God's name took you so long to get here?! I paged you five times!"

A cold sweat broke out across Wilson's brow. This couldn't be good; he had been addressed by his full title. Plus, since House had obviously not spread around the hospital that he had stolen his poor friend's beeper, Cuddy must have thought he'd been ignoring her pages.

But this brought up something very important––up until now, Wilson had been only thinking of his missing beeper as an inconvenience. He didn't know why, but he hadn't realized that without it, no one could reach him if a patient flat-lined or if someone was waiting for him. Or if Cuddy needed to call him over something of obviously life-or-death importance

"What…what did you need?" he asked meekly, not really wanting to know the answer.

"The MedPro meeting? Remember that? You were supposed to come in early to help Dr. Johnson go over their files. Lucky for you, they just called to reschedule."

Wilson felt like a jerk. Truthfully, in all the excitement of the morning, he had completely forgotten about the meeting.

"I'm sorry…It's been a rough morning. It won't happen again, I swear," 'I hope,' Wilson truthfully amended in his head. Knowing House, this kind of thing could become a weekly habit for him.

"See that it doesn't." Cuddy's face lightened slightly as she continued, "Maybe you should stop hanging around House so much; his laziness might be contagious."

Wilson faked a smile and sighed jadedly instead of responding. Satisfied by that, Cuddy turned around to give a curt command to some nurse standing nearby, and then started to walk away.

Which was the exact moment Wilson saw it; a bright red envelope somehow stuck to Cuddy's rear end.


	2. Wilson's Day Degenerates Further

**Title**: The Scavenger Hunt

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Rating**: PG-13 (To be safe)

**Characters**: The whole gang. But mainly, it's Wilson and House

**Ships**: The S.S. Cane-Grab

**Disclaimer**: I totally own them. All of them. I even dress Chase up in frilly dresses and make him sing "I Feel Pretty".

**Summary**: House has Wilson's beeper and all Wilson wants is to get it back. It was foolish of him to think that would be simple.

**A/N**: These are going up like WILD tonight, huh? Oh well. Chapter 2 ahoy!

* * *

Wilson gaped for a moment in shock. Surely, he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. Surely this was some sort of nightmare. It had to be!

"Arrrrg!"

It took all of Wilson's might not to curse House and the demons that obviously spawned him. He would have time for that later. Right now, he had to get that envelope before anyone else saw it-- namely Cuddy. If he had any hope of getting his beeper back in one piece, she couldn't find out about this. But how on Earth was he going to get that envelope without her noticing?! This obviously called for finesse.

"CUDDY, WAIT!" He yelled out––mouth working about two seconds faster than his brain. The exclamation had worked however, and Cuddy stopped to look over her shoulder.

"Uh," he started, trying to think fast and failing miserably, "Uh…I'm…um…really, very sorry about not showing up today."

Cuddy looked (understandably) confused, "I already said it's alright."

"But... I…Oh! Maybe we can discuss how I can make it up to you?" He suggested, sounding a bit overly eager, "In…uh…private, preferably?"

Confusion transitioned seamlessly into alarm as Cuddy wondered if she had just been hit on, "Wilson, it's really ok. _Really_."

Yea, _very _smooth; Wilson just oozed finesse.

Well, obviously this wasn't working. And, seeing how Cuddy was starting to walk away again (significantly faster this time) a new strategy needed to be made _now._

"WAIT! Um…is…is that a new skirt?" He attempted rather lamely.

Cuddy was beyond perplexed and, honestly, getting a bit annoyed, "No, why?"

"Because…uh…it just looks new. Who made it?"

"I don't know. Whoever ships to Macy's. Again I'll ask, _why_?"

"I need to get a gift for someone. Don't worry, I can just check the tag; it'll only take a second, " Wilson tried, pathetically ––a bad idea forming rapidly in his mind.

"Is it really that important?"

"I…yes. Yes, it is. Here, let me see."

"Wilson, I really don't think this is the place fo- _DR. WILSON!_"

Apparently, not comfortable with having the back of her skirt pulled down, Cuddy spun around and gave Wilson an affronted look. Luckily for him, before she did that, he had been able to grab a corner of the envelope, and as she turned, it came right off in his hand. Apparently, it had only been stuck on with scotch tape. _How _it got there , however, was an entirely different mystery.

Hiding it behind his back, Wilson tried his best to appear confused by her reaction.

"Dr. Wilson, if my skirt is _that _important to you, I'll give it to you tomorrow. Now, if you'll _excuse _me."

"Yea," he somehow managed to say as she left, "Thanks."

And with that accomplished, Wilson turned heel and walked as quickly as he could to the elevator. No sooner had he gotten into it however, hindsight reared its smug head and pointed out that he could have just told Cuddy something was stuck to her skirt and then pretend to throw it out. Oh, hindsight, you unhelpful bastard.

Hopefully, that was the last clue involving Cuddy because Wilson was fairly certain he could never look her in the eye again.

But, with cognitive-dissonance setting in, Wilson acknowledged happily that he had at least gotten the envelope. Opening it up, he took a deep breath before reading whatever it had to say.

_Jimbo_––

_I'm impressed you actually got this! I figured you would have rather chewed off your hand than grope Cuddy. Well, at least I know you're willing to play now. And since staring at Cuddy's ass must have put your mind in the septic tank, let's put your hands in there too. Don't worry however, I made sure your envelope stayed nice and dry. _

_  
__––House_

**Ευρισκει**

Wilson was smart enough to identify the clue in the letter this time; 'septic tank' was in no way a synonym for 'gutter'. But how could he get to it? Weren't septic tanks buried underground? Surely, House didn't expect him to rent out a backhoe just to get a damn envelope.

Maybe there was something in the basement that gathered the water before it went underground. Or maybe House just wanted Wilson to go into the bathroom itself.

Considering how little time House had to limp around the hospital placing envelopes, the latter was probably most likely.

Wilson checked his watch and gauged the time he had till his first patient arrived. Since he was so late, it only amounted to about a half hour. But that would be plenty of time to simply investigate a restroom. So with a deep bracing breath, Wilson made his way to the men's room.

Inside, it was bland and utterly quiet. But, as the old cliché went, it was a bit…too quiet. And as the experience with Cuddy this morning showed, nothing should be discounted. Let the investigation begin.

First he checked the sinks––under them, behind them, and even inside the soap dispensers. Of course, no luck. Next he moved to the urinals, but didn't inspect them nearly as thoroughly; the envelope was bright red–– if it were there, he was confident that he would see it without having to touch anything. And fortunately, there was no red in sight.

So finally, there were the stalls.

He opened the first one and went right for the toilet. No red out in the open, so he checked behind it. Again, no luck. Resigning himself for the failure, Wilson finally stood up. As he had checked though, the stall door closed behind him. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was all he could see; large words written in red marker over nearly half the door:

_  
__Dr. Wilson blow-dries his hair. _

Well, on the positive side, this proved that House had been in the bathroom, so obviously the envelope must be here somewhere. On the negative side, Wilson was going to have to buy a new black tie for his late-friend's funeral.

Gritting his teeth, he moved onto the next stall. Not bothering to inspect the toilet, he instantly shut the door to see if there was more writing. There was.

_Dr. Wilson wets the bed. _

You know, maybe Wilson wouldn't even show up for the funeral. After all, with what he was planning to do to House, there wouldn't be much of a body left to mourn over. But he needed to get the envelope before that. Otherwise, the cops would find it, and then they could prove he had motive.

Angrily, he stormed into the final stall, assuming to not only see another personal tidbit being advertised, but more importantly, a red envelope as well. But that was the problem with assuming; there was only one red thing on the bathroom door, and it wasn't rectangular:

_Dr. Wilson is in the wrong bathroom. _

**Ευρισκει**


	3. In Which House Gets Lonely

**Title**: The Scavenger Hunt

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Rating**: PG-13 (To be safe)

**Characters**: The whole gang. But mainly, it's Wilson and House

**Ships**: The S.S. Cane-Grab

**Disclaimer**: I totally own them. All of them. Foreman is stealing me a car as we speak.

**Summary**: House has Wilson's beeper and all Wilson wants is to get it back. It was foolish of him to think that would be simple.

**A/N**: This is where I left off on LJ. The next chapter is almost done and will be posted here first. I'd say you can expect it by Monday, but I have a bad habit of lying when it comes to my stories.

* * *

'Wrong bathroom' wasn't very specific.

Did House mean this was the wrong _men's room_? Or did he mean this was the wrong _floor_? There were simply too many men's rooms in the hospital for Wilson to check them all! He needed a better clue than simply, '_Nope. Wrong. Try again._'

But he'd have to worry about that later, since his patient was due to arrive any minute. Besides, Wilson suspected that a small break from this idiocy would do him some good. Maybe. Hopefully.

But as he walked to his office, Wilson started to realize that he had more pressing problems than just a 'wrong bathroom'. Namely, that most of the female staff seemed to be snickering at him.

Chalking it up to his own self-consciousness at first, Wilson figured that he was only _imagining_ being the object of ridicule (probably on account of how embarrassed he perpetually was today). So he tried to ignore it. But when the laughter started to get accompanied by points and guarded whispers, Wilson was forced to reconsider. What, did he have toilet paper stuck on his shoe?

Or perhaps the rumors from the men's room had gotten out, he hypothesized in his head. Yeah, that would explain it.

Sighing to himself, Wilson quickened his stride and speed-walked the rest of the way to his office. House sure knew how to humiliate a guy.

In his office, the Gods finally took pity on him and made sure his patient was early. And there was nothing like a cancer patient to make someone forget about their own misery.

After that, the patients rolled in one by one and Wilson had almost completely forgotten about the scavenger hunt and House and the women in the hall who undoubtedly believed he had a bladder problem.

That is, until his first female patient came in, looking rather embarrassed. Wilson asked if something was the matter, but she vehemently denied it. However, somewhere into his third blushing female patient, he started to realize something was amiss. No way were they all "just flustered this morning".

So, once he had a break, Wilson poked his head outside his office and called over the first female nurse he saw. That happened to be an older woman who, fortunately, had a reputation for knowing most of the gossip that floated around the hospital.

"Nurse Helen," he started pleasantly, "is there something….going on around here? My patients have all seemed a little upset this morni--"

"Well! I sure don't blame them! Who do you think you are, acting like some sort of marriage con-artist!?"

Wilson was stunned speechless. Unsure of where this was coming from, he looked around for someone--anyone--to give him some kind of hint. But the rest of the nurses made sure to avoid eye contact.

Had Nurse Helen just heard of his divorces or something? But even so, three divorces hardly made him a con artist! Especially when _he _was the one paying alimony through the nose.

Trying to figure out a dignified way to respond to this accusation (while at the same time wondering if there even _was _a dignified way to respond), Wilson gaped for a moment or two, looking rather pathetic. Which was good, since looking pathetic summoned Dr. Cameron faster than a page.And sure enough there she was, running over to the two of them and looking, generally, as though she had just come off a marathon.

"Helen, it's alright," she yelled out, before even reaching them, "I'll take care of this."

Nurse Helen looked less than convinced, but was clearly outranked, so she left with a glare. Glad to have a female he could actually talk to, Wilson hastily pulled Cameron into his office, "What the _hell_ is going on around here?"

"I've been trying to find you all morning!" She gasped out, trying to catch her breath, "Chase said he saw you on the roof, so I went all the way up the--. Oh, that's not important. I walked in on House in the girl's bathroom this morning…."

Oh _no_! So _that _was what he had meant! It all made perfect sense now; he should have seen it all along. The_ bastard_!

"….I mean, he was done writing it by the time I got there, bu-"

Not hearing a large chunk of what Cameron had said thanks to his epiphany, Wilson cut to the chase, "Let me guess, he taped a red envelope there."

"You already know?" Cameron confirmed innocently, obviously not privy to what this was all about.

Wilson felt a little part of his soul die, "Yeah…Could you do me a favor and get that envelope for me?"

Cameron pursed her lips together uncomfortably before answering, "I don't know…House said that he'd fire me if I touch it. I mean, I'm sure he was just bluffing, but…"

Wilson sighed at his friend's childishness, "I'm sure he was too. But it wouldn't be fair to drag you into this stupid game and get House pissed at you."

"This is a _game_?"

"Yeah," Wilson all but groaned, "he stayed at my place last night and stole my beeper. Now I have to go traipsing around the hospital to find all these damned red envelopes to get it back."

"Oh…" she said, trying hard to be empathic, but feeling far too amused to fake it properly, "Well, if I see anymore of them, I'll let you know."

"Thanks. But, uh, Cameron? I know you can't get the envelope itself, but can you at least go into the bathroom ahead of me and make sure no one else is in there? The last thing I need is to run into Nurse Helen."

**Ευρισκει**

"All clear," Cameron said in a very irritatingly peppy voice. She probably found this whole situation hilarious.

"Now," she continued, a bit more soberly, "Don't get too angry when you go in there. I've already called the janitor to take it down."

What? This must have been what Cameron was talking about earlier when he zoned out.

"Take what down?"

"What House wrote, of course!"

Of course.

Morbidly curious, Wilson didn't press Cameron for more information and instead crashed past her and through the door.

In hindsight, bursting into the bathroom like that had probably been a mistake; no sooner had he cleared the door, the shock of what was on the opposite wall nearly knocked him out:

**_BE THE FOURTH MRS. WILSON! _**

_**  
Dream no longer! Simply stop by and we'll set up a time for a trial run. Or you can make an appointment by phone: 609-555-1344. Auditions will be held all day in my office. The spot fills up fast, so hurry while you still have a chance!**_

_**  
-Dr. Wilson.**_

It wasn't bad enough that House had signed Wilson's name, or that he had put his _actual_ home phone number up. No, House wasn't so easily satisfied-- he had to make sure the advertisement took up the _entire bathroom wall. _

This abuse just wasn't worth a beeper. Wilson should just buy himself a new one and screw the rest of this Devil's game. So what if it would cost $100? That would certainly be less than the price of the shrink he'd need after he had a nervous breakdown.

But looking at the wall, a scary thought crossed Wilson's mind; what else had House done in the hospital? Clearly, he had no qualms about grand-scale humiliation, so what else could possibly be lurking around Princeton-Plainsboro, destroying his reputation more and more by the second? Was a skywriter coming around at noon?

This train of thought brought a difficult question up: would it be better to just stay blissfully ignorant and let everyone laugh at him or let House win? The best thing would probably be to find these slanderous clues and destroy them before anyone else could see them.

But to do that, he'd have to keep playing. Oh, Scylla and Charybdis, of course you'd show up now. But actually, there really wasn't a choice—only the façade of one.

Wilson tore the red envelope off from where it had been taped on the wall and ripped it open.

_James, James, Bo-Bames,_

_  
You're doing well! Three clues down so far! I'm very impressed, but you're not done yet…_

**Ευρισκει**

The next two hours, found Wilson crawling underneath his car, digging elbow deep in the flowerbeds out front, and begging Foreman not to tell anyone that he had been hoarded up in his office with the hospital's entire collection of Cosmo.

And still, he had no idea if he was even close to being finished. Hell, he didn't even know what this latest clue was:

_Jimboree_,

_You better hurry for this kicker of a clue, before it kicks the bucket!_

_  
-House_

It was by far the shortest of all the notes, but that didn't make it simpler. The most Wilson could figure was that it was probably regarding a patient of his that wasn't doing so well. But what was with all the 'kick' talk? He had no patients named Mr. Kick or even Mr. Foot, for that matter. Who the hell did House mean?

Sitting in his office with his head in his hands, Wilson tried to decipher this seemingly inane clue. There were no soccer players with cancer this month, so that was out. In fact, he couldn't remember any athletes he had been working with this _year_.

_Click._

Maybe he meant the patient with foot cancer? Wait…there was no patient with foot cancer!

_Click. _

Or maybe he meant Mr. Trill; he had a missing pinky toe. But Mr. Trill was in remission. Why would he be 'kicking the bucket'? Arrrg. This made no sense!

_Click, click._

Pulled from his thoughts by that persistent, annoying click noise, Wilson lifted his head up and glared at his desk. Where the _hell _was that coming from?!

Searching around, Wilson tried to figure out what was clicking, before it succeeded in driving him insane. Nothing seemed out of place, however; nothing had fallen on the floor, no ticking bombs in sight. Maybe he been imagining it?

_Thud._

No. He had definately heard that noise before, and he'd have to be a masochist to be hallucinating it now. Besides, it was clearly coming from outside.

In almost disbelief, Wilson looked up at his balcony's door. Sure enough, there was House, throwing rocks from his side of the balcony.


	4. Where Migraines are Good

**Title**: The Scavenger Hunt

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Rating**: PG-13 (To be safe)

**Characters**: The whole gang. But mainly, it's Wilson and House

**Ships**: The S.S. Cane-Grab

**Disclaimer**: I totally own them. All of them. Cameron waters my garden with her tears.

**Summary**: House has Wilson's beeper and all Wilson wants is to get it back. It was foolish of him to think that would be simple.

**A/N**: I feel SO BAD about taking so long. Really. I wish I had a good reason, but it really was just procrastination and writer's block. Thank you all for not yelling at me. I promise not to take so long with the last two chapter. But then again, I have a habit of lying.

Anywho, I just had to say THANK YOU to the 1684 people who hit my story. This absolutely boggles my mind. I actually had one story that was recced on Television without Pity and this story DOUBLED its hits. So, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING ME FEEL SPECIAL! Also, thank you to the c2s community that took me in and the 32 people that have this story on alert. You don't know how much that touches me. So thanks for bearing with me, and here's your chapter at long last.

* * *

This visit was unexpected to say the least-- unwelcome to say the most. Wilson had figured (and hoped) that House was going to avoid him for the whole day—or at least until he got the last clue, whichever came first. But there he was, having the utter audacity to look _annoyed_.

Getting up, Wilson cautiously made his way to the door, as though he were expecting some booby trap to go off. House watched this amusement; he even looked as though he was fighting a smile. Wilson wanted to kill him.

"What are you doing here?!" he asked immediately, preparing that as a segue to, 'Any last words?'

"You didn't come to lunch. I got lonely."

Wilson couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You got _lonely_? Well, you could have paged me, or-- Oh! Wait!"

"Oh, stop whining," House groaned rolling his eyes dramatically, "You know this is the most fun you've had all month."

"Fun?! FUN!? You think being publicly humiliated is fun?"

"A bit," he admitted cheerily. Wilson groaned and turned to go back into his office, lest he toss a cripple off the balcony.

Not wanting to end the conversation yet, House pushed away from the wall and walked over to the divider, placing a hand on either side in case he needed to jump over, "C'mon, like anyone is _really_ going to believe you put a personal in the girl's bathroom. Everyone knows you have a prick for a friend. It's only a matter of time before they put two and two together."

This did little to comfort Wilson. It did, however, stop his retreat as he turned around and gave his "prick of a friend" a stony glare. He supposed that House did have a point.

"Still," Wilson grumbled petulantly, "You took this game way too far. Enough is enough, just give me back my beeper and let me finish my work in peace."

House smirked, "How about this instead: I'll just tell you _who's _been paging you."

"I'd rather have the beeper…"

"And I'd rather be talking to Carmen Electra. So unless you spontaneously grow a perky pair of double D's, I'll be the one making the deals."

Wilson pressed his fingers against his temples as a migraine started to develop. This was ridiculous. He didn't even know why he bothered coming out here at all.

House scoffed impatiently, "Think of those poor cancer kids. They _need_ you, Super Oncologist-man."

"I guess that would make you my arch nemesis, right? I mean, it makes sense. You already have the flunkies, the insanity, and a _total lack of morals_. All you need now is a secret lair and a cat to stroke while plotting."

"I've got Chase," House countered back, not missing a beat, "and who needs a lair when I've got a hospital? It's the best hide-out ever; who'd suspect to find a villain here?"

Wilson buried his face into the palm of his hand, "Anyone that knows you."

Losing his interest in the conversation, Wilson took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. Which was more and more difficult as his migraine progressed; he was fairly certain an elephant had wiggled its way into his skull. "Fine. Who paged me?"

Smiling triumphantly, House produced a notepad from his pocket, "Cuddy beeped you a few times this morning and then once again a couple minutes ago."

"What? Why? What did it say?"

"'7:00 2morrow 4 Skirt'. Must be an inside joke or something," he responded, maintaining one of the best poker faces Wilson ever saw.

"Ugh. I don't know how I can even look her in the eye anymore. How, in God's name, did you get that envelope…_there…_ in the first place?!"

"Left it sticky side up on her chair. She never looks before she sits, so it wasn't that hard. I could have put a porcupine there."

Despite himself, Wilson had to snicker at the mental image of Cuddy sitting on a porcupine. House seemed to take this as yet another triumph since his smirk grew into an irritating grin. Not wanting to give his "friend" the satisfaction, Wilson pretended to cough and resumed his glare. Or at least tried to. It was hard to perform a proper glare when your head seemed to have a pulse of its own.

House got the hint and returned to his memo pad and self-satisfied smirking, "Cameron was the only other one. She found where the last clue was and paged you the location."

Wilson gaped in horrified awe, "She _paged _me? She really paged me the location of the clue to _find my pager_?"

"Yea, I thought it was pretty funny too. If you want to scold her though, don't bother. She, sadly, had to be sent off with Chase to investigate our patient's house."

"But…your patient is from _Brooklyn_!"

House, in lieu of responding shot Wilson a rather sadistic smile.

'Of course,' Wilson thought to himself, 'Of course he would find a way to make this more miserable than it already was.'

Wilson's eyes slammed shut as the migraine chose this moment to crescendo into 'oversensitivity to light'; a House-induced migraine at its best. Well, if he was lucky, maybe this would warrant him some acid. Or perhaps some _pity, _which, certainly had the potential of being preferable at this point. But who was he kidding? There was no wa--

The touch of rough fingertips to his temples brought Wilson's thoughts to a grinding halt. Instantly, his eyes flew open and he was able to catch a glimpse of House's concerned face before pain and nausea forced his lids to clamp down again.

House felt bad for him? Then why was he doing this? Why all the torture?!

Wilson batted his friend's hands away, "No. No way. No way can you broadcast to the world that I wet the bed, slander me in the girl's bathroom, make me steal Cosmos from patients and then make nice by rubbing my head!"

"Who said I was trying to make nice? Maybe I'm just concerned for your well being."

"Like Hell you are..."

But Wilson's resolve faded as House's hands returned to the sides of his head. He was in too much pain to be irate right now. Maybe in minute or so he could care again...

"Or an hour," he corrected himself, as his migraine started to wane in response to House's attention.

"What clue are you on?" House asked mildly after a few minutes, almost disinterestedly as he massaged.

"The kicker one. I have no idea what it means."

"Don't you have that patient? Mr. Mano? The one with the tumor-y pancreas?"

Wilson was starting to feel better enough so that he could squint open his right eye. "First, 'tumor' is not an adjective. Second, what the Hell does a pancreas have to do with kicking?"

House rolled his eyes, "Hello? Mano? That's Spanish for foot."

Wilson groaned loudly, in a pain worse than his migraine, "Mano is 'hand', House! Piè is 'foot'!"

"Oh. I always confuse those two. Well, at least you figured it out now."

Wilson groaned again and opened his eye all the way, "You're impossible. You know that?"

"Your _mom's _impossible," House retorted petulantly, feigning concentration on the throbbing head in his hands.

Wilson couldn't help but smile.

And, once he looked briefly down at him, House smiled too.

"So, I can get help from you, but Cameron has to be sent to Brooklyn?"

"_Cameron _tried to do the entire hunt for you. And that is cheating, my dear Wilson."

"Of course," Wilson laughed back drowsily.

The conversation from there degenerated into companionable silence. Enjoying being pampered like this, Wilson allowed the stress from the day to take a coffee break; it deserved some rest after all its hard work. Besides, as of late, it was rare to get this sort of care from House. And Wilson had missed the closeness of it.

"Feeling better?" House hazarded after a few minutes of the massage, avoiding eye-contact gracelessly. Not wanting to talk anymore, Wilson simply nodded.

"You should really go get that envelope then. Mr. Mano is probably very uncomfortable."

And so, both their smiles faded.

Unconsciously, Wilson pressed the right side of his head more firmly against House's fingertips. "In a few minutes," he murmured back, annoyed at being forced to say something, "You owe me."

"A few minutes," House agreed, continuing his ministrations.

And even though they still weren't looking at each other, they both knew their smiles had returned.


End file.
